


That Scarf Has to be Useful for Something...

by Newtavore



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Clothed Sex, Desperation, Grinding, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtavore/pseuds/Newtavore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s just a kink, ED,” you say when you pull away, resting your forehead against his, “It’s not something to be ashamed of. So what if you like getting choked a little, it’s not that weird. There’s weirder, let me tell you.”</p><p>In Which Eridan Has a Kink and Sollux Maybe Takes Advantage of That a Lot.</p><p>(fixed that glaring typo like wow)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Scarf Has to be Useful for Something...

**Author's Note:**

> wow this is kind of piss poor fanfic I'm sorry

You know it’s a bad habit, but you can’t help it. Teasing Eridan is, like, one of the greatest pastimes of  _all_  time, and it’s something you tend to do quite often, despite his role as your matesprit.

 

Granted, you flip on him just as often as you tease him, but at the end of the day you usually flip back, so you never bother changing his official position. 

 

But yes, teasing. Teasing ED, in particular. He’s always got the best reactions, and he never really responds the same way twice, always changing it up here or there, and it’s just so entertaining that you can’t help but do it all the time; it keeps your brain occupied, keeps you from doing stupid things in the wake of sheer boredom, and as long as you kiss him afterwards, or fuck him over the couch or something, he doesn’t really complain. 

 

But something’s different. Something’s _charged_ , this time, makes you want to spark, makes you want to do… _something_ , you’re not sure. You’re almost wary to tease him, but you’re bored and he’s there and god you’re  _bored_  so you do anyways, grabbing his scarf and pulling him back by it with your psionics, grinning as he chokes slightly. 

 

You won’t pull hard enough to actually cause damage, you don’t want to hurt him, but you’re bored and he’s ever so entertaining when you manage to piss him off. So you pull a little tighter, pin him against a wall and play with the end of his scarf and you’re expecting him to start yelling as soon as you let go but instead he just takes a shuddering gasp of air, fins flaring, and… holy shit. _Holy shit_. 

 

There's no way, no fucking way... but the way he's fucking _looking_ at you... 

 

“Are you  _turned on_  by this?” you ask, incredulous, and his face flushes a brilliant violet, mouth open like he’s trying to say something, but can’t think of the words. You pull tight, again, just enough to cut off his airflow, and he chokes out a soft whimper and bucks against you, ever so slightly. 

 

“Holy shit, you are. You’re turned on by me choking the shit out of you-  _fuck_ , ED.”

 

He snaps his teeth at you and won't meet your eyes, which is strange because usually you can't get him to stop soul searching or whatever the fuck he does when he thinks you aren't paying attention. No, he's just standing stiff against the wall, muscles twitching when you touch him, and when you poke his face he snarls, a harsh, warning sound.

 

"Don't wanna admit it?" you say, grin faltering when he doesn't take the bait, when he just leans away from you, eyes on the floor. He shakes his head and just kind of stands there, unresponsive, and if that isn’t a worrying sign you don’t know what is because ED is like a sponge, soaking up any and all affection and touch you bestow upon him no matter what. You tilt his face up to meet yours, and he looks wary and unhappy and your heart twists in your chest. 

 

“I know I’m a freak, alright?” he finally spits, biting his lip hard enough to bleed, “You don’t have’ta rub it in, I can’t fuckin’ help it, okay, it’s not exactly like I woke up one day an’ decided ‘oh let’s be a fuckin’ freak’a goddamn nature and fuckin’ enjoy gettin’ strangled, that sounds like fun’.”

 

Oh.  _Oh_. Sometimes you forget how little about everything he knows. Sometimes you forget he doesn't live on the internet like you do, and he just does;t _know_ about the same shit you sort through on forums night in and night out. 

 

You silence his muttering with a kiss, tasting blood on your lips, and it takes a bit but he can’t help but respond, clinging to your shoulders hard enough to prick little holes in your shirt with his claws. It’s rough at first, to goad him into reacting, but as soon as he does you slow it down, gentle your touch, and he sighs against your mouth and just lets you dictate the pace, purring a bit when you bury a hand in his hair and pet. 

 

“It’s just a kink, ED,” you say when you pull away, resting your forehead against his, “It’s not something to be ashamed of. So what if you like getting choked a little, it’s not that weird. There’s weirder, let me tell you.”

 

He shivers. 

 

“Vriska-“

 

“And that’s your problem right there,” you say, rolling your eyes, “Listening to anything Vriska says should be illegal. Basing what you should and shouldn’t be ashamed of off her is even worse.”

 

You also tend to forget pretty much his only relationship experience comes from _her_. Everything always ends up as _but Vriska did this_  or  _Vriska said that_ , and it's infuriating and heartbreaking in equal measure because it's obvious to everyone but ED that she’d been using him, hurting him, and whatever they’d had, it wasn’t kismessitude, not in the slightest. It made you bitter and angry and usually, whenever Vriska’s name is mentioned you find yourself flipping quadrants, but not this time, not now. 

 

He’s too pitiful for you to hate him, in any capacity, at the moment. 

 

You pin him to the wall instead, using your considerable height difference to keep him trapped, and kiss him hard, wiping away the acerbic taste of jealousy and her name, replacing it with you, your tongue, your presence, you. He wraps his arms around your neck and lets you dominate the kiss, parting his lips and letting you in with no struggle, and, though you know it’s probably a bad idea, you pull his scarf tight again. 

 

He chokes on a surprised noise and grinds against the thigh you’ve shoved between his legs, involuntary, shocked, and god he looks delicious like this, flushed and desperate and wanton and all fucking yours, all yours. 

 

You release him when you part and he sucks in a long breath, staring at you, trembling. 

 

“It’s not something to be ashamed of," you repeat, reaching out to pet his cheek, “Let me make you feel good, ED. You know I can do it better than anyone else you’ve ever been with.” 

 

You punctuate that statement with a crooked grin and an eyebrow wiggle, mainly because you know he hasn’t really been with anyone else except Vriska, and even then you aren’t sure if they actually did anything besides fight and torture each other. 

 

He elbows you for the comment, but it’s barely a tap, much lighter than what he could have done. 

 

“Please?” 

 

You mangle the word, lisping it awkwardly, but it seems to sway him, if the small, hesitant nod is any indication. Good. That nod is as good as a promise that he’ll let you do whatever you want to him; that’s how ED works, all resistance until you back him into a corner, then complete submissiveness to a rather astounding degree, if one had any sort of interaction with him on a daily basis. 

 

You fish around with your psionics, trying to locate things without actually having to move. You rather like this position, and you think you’re going to stay here for quite a while, if you have any say in the matter. 

 

There's a bag of bells in one of your desk drawers, annoying, tinkly ones that Karkat gave you as a joke gift, with the assumption that you’d 'sew them onto your goddamn clothes because you are a silent menace to society and my bloodpusher, you fucking prick’, and they're exactly what you need right now. Not quite the intended use, but they would work perfectly. 

 

You press one of the bells into ED’s hand. 

 

“If you start getting dizzy, or you feel like you’re gonna pass out, or you just want to stop, drop the bell,” you say, and he clutches it like a lifeline, which, technically, it is, “As soon as I hear that thing, everything’s over, done with, I let go and we stop, no exceptions. Okay?”

 

He nods and looks a bit relieved to have an out if he needs one, and look at you, matesprit of the year, he’s got these adoring eyes and kind of scrunched up face he gets when you do something really sweet or exceptionally nice, and ok, maybe you are a bit lax when it comes to proper procedure in the bedroom but he knows he can always say stop, he doesn’t need to keep looking at you like that. 

 

No, seriously, he needs to stop looking at you like that. 

 

The best way to get him to stop looking at you is, of course, to kiss him again, hard and fast, and he whimpers against your lips and clenches his fist around the bell and fuck, he’s gorgeous like this, pinned against the wall and at your mercy. 

 

You kiss his lips, his jaw, his little fins, and they wiggle under your tongue but you lick them anyways, nibbling on the tips, careful of your jagged teeth. 

 

“Can I?”

 

He nods, and you use your psionics to pull his scarf taut around his throat a third time, keeping your leg pressed up tight between his thighs. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out, and he rolls his hips, clutching your shirt in the hand that isn't occupied. You hold fast until his eyes roll back in his head and he shudders, gagging, and then you let go, holding him steady as he takes deep, almost violent gasps of air. 

 

“How was that?” you ask, but you think you already know the answer. You can feel his bulge curling inside his pants, and there’s a wet spot in the fabric from his nook already, even though you’ve barely touched him. 

 

He nods, again, and you let him get three more breaths in before you pull tight, cutting off his air. He rocks against your leg, making the most pathetic choked off little noises and god, he’s so fucking hot you almost can’t take it. You’re torn between keeping him here until he ruins another pair of pants or throwing him to the floor and fucking him hard, but you're not doing this because you want to fuck him, this isn't for you, this is you trying to prove a point to him. If proving your point mean ruining another pair of his stupid pants, though, well, that would just be an unintended bonus. He looks better without them anyways. 

 

“Gotta work for it, ED,” you pant, gritting your teeth as one of your own bulges slides into your nook, and it’s not the same as fucking him or getting fucked by him but it’s close enough, good enough under the circumstances, “You wanna come? You gotta make it happen, my hands are all busy keeping you from falling on your ass.”

 

Of course, you could just use your psionics to hold him up, but where’s the fun in that?

 

He slams his head against the wall in frustration, a strangled noise emerging from his throat and obviously that means you aren’t holding him tight enough, if he can still make noise. You pull the scarf tighter and his hips buck, one hand scrabbling at your chest, the other still clutching the bell hard enough to cause indentations in his skin. 

 

“How long do you think you can hold out, huh?” 

 

You let him go, let him breathe, and he looks at you like you’re his entire world, and fuck, right now you kind of are. You groan as your own bulge writhes particularly hard at the expression on his face, biting down on your lip to silence any louder cries, and he whines high in his throat, voice hoarse. 

 

You’re not getting off on the thought of choking him, you don't think. It doesn’t really hold that much of an appeal to you, to be honest, but fuck, the _faces_ he makes, the _noises_ , the way his body moves against yours, it’s all so fucking _hot_ you can’t stand it. 

 

You grind your thigh up against his nook and yank the scarf tight again, rolling with him when he rocks against you, watching the way his face goes slack, the way his mouth drops open, fruitlessly gasping for air, and god, you can’t help but drive even deeper into your own nook at the sight, bulges thrashing hard. 

 

His hands fall from your chest to his sides, and you see his chest heave in vain, see his eyes roll back in his head, the thin trail of drool joining the tear stains on his cheeks and he just looks so fucking  _wrecked,_ and you can't help but stare at him and think, wow, _I_ did that. _Me_. 

 

“How long can I hold you like this before you give in? How long can you take it, ED?”

 

His hips stutter, twitching frantically, and you can tell he’s close, so fucking close he just needs something to push him over the edge, just one more thing. 

 

You yank hard on the edge of his scarf, thrust your leg up between his thighs, and then let go right as his body goes lax. 

 

He comes messily all over himself, gasping for air and clinging to you, forgetting completely about the bell and dropping it to the floor, the soft jingle completely lost underneath his ragged, broken moaning. You’re so close yourself, both of your bulges stretching you out, and the debauched, dazed look on his face sends you tipping over the edge, clutching him to your chest and sinking your teeth in his neck to muffle your much louder sounds of pleasure. 

 

Everything’s washed out and muted for a bit, everything except his wheezy breaths and the fire running through your veins, harsh and overwhelming and so fucking perfect. Your nook’s sore, of course it would be after the rough treatment you’d given it, but it still twinges pleasantly when you slide out of yourself, making you shiver all over. 

 

ED lets his head fall forward, resting in the crook of your neck, little puffs of air hitting your collarbone with every exhale, and, when you shake him a bit, he mumbles your name, voice cracked and hoarse from the abuse you’d just dealt his throat. 

 

“You alright?”

 

He nods, leaning against your chest, the softest hint of a purr vibrating between you, and you grin, burying a hand in his hair, pressing a kiss to one of his horns. He’s so goddamn cute when he’s too spent to act all high and mighty, fucking adorable when all he can do is trill and purr and cuddle up to you, sleepy and clingy. 

 

“Let’s get changed, ok?”

 

He grumbles a bit under his breath about you ruining more of his clothes, but lets you strip him and redress him in something more comfortable, namely pajamas because you are going to pin him to the couch and not let him get up for the rest of the day. Your own clothes are just as fucked, so you dump them off to the side and change before moving to the living room on shaky legs. 

 

Psionics are a godsend, because with them you can pile the couch high with comfy things and fetch a glass of water for ED without actually having to move from the best position, sprawled lengthwise on the furniture with ED draped over you like a cooling blanket, curled up on top of you and kneading your chest like a particularly happy mewbeast. 

 

“Thirsty?”

 

He nods, still not quite able to make out words yet, and lets you hold the cup to his lips. He’s loose and relaxed and you love him like this, docile and compliant. 

 

“See, ED?” you murmur, setting the glass tone side and petting his hair, “Nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing wrong with liking what you like.”

 

He croons and butts his head against your hand, staring up at you with glazed eyes filled with absolute adoration, and you kiss his forehead, suddenly feeling giddy. Fuck, he might be fun to tease, but he’s yours, your matesprit, your kismesis, your everything, and you don’t think there’s anything quite as good as making him like this. 

 

You close your eyes, and, before you know it, the sound of his purring and the feel of his comforting weight pinning you in place has knocked you out. 

 


End file.
